Some Kind of Special
by Pavarti
Summary: Renesme is a 14 year old child on the autism spectrum.  After being expelled from yet another school her parents take her to a new therapist.  Can Dr. Jacob Black reach her when everyone else has failed?


**Some Kind of Special**

**By Pavarti**

**Summary: **Renesme is a 14 year old child on the autism spectrum. After being expelled from yet another school her parents take her to a new therapist. Can Dr. Jacob Black reach her when everyone else has failed?

* * *

><p><em>Abee, Steve<em>

_Adams, Douglas_

_Albee, Edward_

_Atwood, Margaret_

_Atwood, Russel_

_Auster, Paul_

Her father's bookshelf was perfect. Everything was in order. It gave her nothing to do. She contemplated resorting them by color: red, blue, brown. Her fingers itched to start, but her father wouldn't like that. He liked it the way it was. Nothing out of place - just the way he liked everything. And she was the obsessive one... she snorted out loud before she could control it and whipped her hand to her face. It had been a laugh, but her mother would hear it as another outburst, another noise she couldn't control, and there was already enough her mother was upset about.

_Halderman, Joe_

_Halperin, Timothy_

"I can't keep doing this alone!" her mother hissed.

_alone... drone... phone... cone... zone..._

"I've tried that..." the exasperated woman cried.

_Irving, John_

_Jin, Ha_

"Renesmee ." Her thoughts were interrupted; she would have to begin again...

_Abee, Steve_

_Adams, Douglas_

_Albee, Edward_

"Renesmee !"

_Atwood, Margaret_

_Atwood, Russel_

"Renesmee Carlie Cullen!" A firm hand gripped her arm, pulling her out of her thoughts. Her mother's cool fingers tried to remind her to focus, to reign in her attention, but all it accomplished was to make her recoil from the touch.

The struggle was constant, the fleeting ability to situate her mind in the reality others existed in. But she knew the truth; this reality, the one they try to box her into, it was flat. In her mind, there were words with smiles and colors that grew.

She pulled her hand up and tapped her mother's arm before looking up. _Look in her eyes, look in her eyes._ She was already in trouble; she had to make herself do this _look at her eyebrows... that's easier._

Her mother's worried face relaxed when Renesmee met her gaze. "Honey, come sit down, please." An arm was extended, and Renesmee steadied herself for the contact, dreading the necessary touch that her mother thought soothed her.

She closed her eyes and breathed out loudly, emitting a low moan that ended with a grunt.

"Bella, leave the girl be." Her father had given up long ago; Renesmee would never be normal. She would always be "special."

So special that she didn't have any friends.

So special that she'd gotten kicked out of school... again.

So special that she was alone, locked inside her head.

The words she wanted to say usually choked her before they were able to escape, her own specialness betraying her every attempt to fit in.

Renesmee didn't want to be special.

Special sucked.

Sitting down across from her father at his over-sized desk, Renesmee tucked her legs up in the rounded chair. It was supposed to be modern. It made Renesmee think of being inside an egg.

Her mother slapped her leg, her way of reminding Renesmee that feet do not belong on furniture. She straightened her legs out in front of her, feeling exposed and nervous. She shifted her weight a few times, oblivious of the conversation her parents were having with her. She pulled at her sleeves and picked at the seam of her jeans.

"Honey, can you explain what happened today?"

Renesmee ducked her head, letting her hair fall over her face. It was auburn like her father's, but wavy and thick. She'd grown her bangs out and was happy with the unexpected consequence of having a new favorite place to hide.

"Your mother spoke to you, I expect a response." Her father's voice was harsh, like static electricity, but then, it always was. If she could pull her legs back; that would help. And so she did. This time, her mother did nothing.

"Yes," she said quietly.

The parents exchanged another in a lifetime of looks.

"Yes?"

"Yes." Her intonation was flat and matter-of-fact.

"'Yes,' what?"

"Yes, I can explain."

Her mother sighed, but Renesmee didn't know why. She'd answered the question. She could explain it; it all made so much sense. What she couldn't understand was why she was in trouble. Her thumb continued to work at the seam in her jeans while she stared at the desk in front of her.

Her father's sigh was long and tired. He didn't have time for another drawn out game of 'Guess the Meaning' with his daughter. He had work to do, work that paid for her testing and therapy and private school, if they could find another one that would accept her. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm himself. Bella just sat there - legs clasped shut, knees locked together, ankles crossed - the perfect image of a doctor's wife. Sometimes he really hated her.

"Renesmee , please tell me what happened today that would result in you getting expelled from _another_school." He was exhausted, tired of this discussion, tired of never knowing what was going on with his daughter. Bella constantly insisted she would outgrow it or that with the right treatment she could be cured. He hated to admit it, but some part of him had just given up.

"Oh," she replied, _that's right, school..._

The moments swam by, and she was comfortable in the silence. Her hair flowed in front of her eyes, creating a filter for the world around her. Through her veil, everything was softer, easier and safer to face. For a moment, she forgot why she was there...

"Renesmee !" her father barked, standing up with his hands on his desk, leaning toward her. "You are fully capable of having a conversation about this, and you are more than capable of going to school without these kinds of outbursts! Now kindly explain to me what the hell happened today!"

"Edward..." her mother began gently but bit back her words when he threw his glare in her direction. They never used to fight; when they'd been younger, when they'd had their beautiful baby girl, they never fought. Sometimes now, they would yell at each other, just to keep from yelling at her. They hadn't fallen out of love, exactly, just out of practice.

"They were yelling," Renesmee began, looking everywhere but at her father her hair falling away from her young face. "You were yelling, and they were yelling, and it was... loud." The words stopped, her mouth filled with them, thick and vile, but she couldn't purge them.

"Who was yelling, honey?" Her mother reached out to touch her, but Renesmee pulled away; touch and talk were more than she could handle at once, and she knew she had to talk. It was a Herculean act to try and verbalize what she was feeling, especially with her father's eyes trained on her as if he expected her to spontaneously combust. She felt like she might suffocate; the words fought to get out, to burst from her lips and try to explain how she felt, but instead, they remained bottle-necked behind her lips, and her tongue grew heavy as it tried to battle with them.

"It was loud, and there were so many noises and volumes: chirps and clangs and voices and dings and clangs and voices and talking and voices and chirps and chirps and dings and..."

"What? What is she...?" Edward looked from child to wife, confused, still not knowing what was happening when his child began chanting. He wanted to help her, to save her, but he also just wanted her to leave. His self-hate ate at him; no man should feel that way about his only child.

She was teetering close to the edge and could feel her tentative control slipping. She knew what was coming, and she hated it; the same scream that kept the noise out branded her as different, and she fought against it. She needed to do something, some way to escape the moment, to soothe the growing panic that mounted. She could drown out the sounds, but she bit on her tongue instead, trying to push her mounting panic back down inside of her.

"I think it was the cafeteria. They said they found her during sixth period, so maybe she got upset during lunch?" Bella looked desperately from her husband to her daughter, trying to piece together the information she had been given.

"They were too loud," she accused. "You're all too _loud!"_Renesmee stood abruptly, almost falling out of her chair, and returned to her father's bookshelf, tracing the names with her fingers. The shapes of them soothed her; the perfection of their order was something she could focus on and understand. She loved books. The old fashioned ones were her favorite, the kind where the letters dipped into the binding...

_Abee, Steve_

_Adams, Douglas_

_Albee, Edward_

The numbers lined up perfectly; they always did. The logic of the new puzzle book her mother had found soothed her. 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9… They all fit. Up and down. Side to side. In the square. 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9… 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9… 1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9…

She had 78 pages completed. There were 922 left. This one would last more than an hour, and that made her smile. Her pencil was the mechanical kind that clicked when you added lead and was always sharp. She found a whole box of them under her bed today, along with a ribbon she was carrying in her pocket. It was blue.

Her mother was behind the closed door. It was heavy and wooden. She liked it. She felt safe next to that door; it was capable.

The door kept the voices inside, where they were supposed to be. She didn't have to listen to her mother explain again...Renesmee _, well, she's special. She's a very bright girl, but somehow, she's never been able to make friends or get along at school. The doctors assure us that her issues are just a developmental delay, that we need to be patient, she may yet catch up... Oh, I don't know if __**autism **__is the right word; I mean, she's just special. Yes, she's fourteen._

She'd heard it enough times. The mixture of explaining and apologizing her daughter into a nice little package. Renesmee hated it. The box they kept her in chafed.

She settled back into her seat with her feet tucked up under her despite her mother telling her not to do that because it could hurt the furniture; she focused on her puzzle. Her fingers fiddled with her jeans while she worked.

"Renesmee . Renesmee , please look at me. Renesmee , please look up." Her mother's speech was fast, the way it always was when she wanted her daughter to respond normally. She rushed from one word to the next, hoping that Renesmee would comply. She didn't realize that it wasn't a question of complying. "I'd like to introduce you to…"

"Mrs. Cullen, it's all right; let her finish her puzzle." A deep voice broke through the noise in her mind. She heard him, but she didn't look up; she was so close to finishing this row.

"Dr. Black, really, I think it's important that she…"

He silenced her with a smile before turning and walking back into the room on the other side of the heavy door. When he returned, he walked up to Renesmee but did not speak and did not demand her attention. He simply reached forward and placed a Post-It note on the page opposite the one she was working on.

"Mrs. Cullen, I will call you when she's ready to be picked up." He had a friendly smile that made the dismissal seem natural.

"I thought the session was only an hour?"

"Clearly Renesmee isn't ready to start yet."

"Well, your fee…"

"Mrs. Cullen, as I told you on the phone, I charge a flat fee per session. Don't worry about the time; that's my responsibility. Unless you have somewhere she needs to be, please, just let her stay and get to know me. It's more important that she feel comfortable than that we watch the clock."

The corners of Renesmee's mouth itched to turn up into a smile. Few spoke to her mother that way. She grunted, earning a glare from her mother.

"I… yes… of course. Um, you have my cell phone number…"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll be back in Forks, so, I guess, I'll be here about thirty minutes after you call me. Is that all right? You do live quite far from town."

"Actually, I'm only about five minutes from town, but yes, thirty minutes is fine."

"Five minutes?"

"From La Push; my land is on the reservation, despite there being an entrance off the interstate."

"Oh, of course… La Push." Her mother wrung her hands nervously.

"It's all right; few people from Forks remember that we have a small town." His smile was again kind but restrained.

"Well, I'll see you later then. Thank you, Dr. Black." She held out her hand politely.

"Jacob, please; I don't stand on formality here. That's one of the best perks of having my own practice."

"Of course, Jacob. Thank you again." Bella turned to her daughter, who was sitting on her feet again despite the constant reminder not to do just that. She sighed before taking a step toward Renesmee .

"Goodbye, dear," she said, not expecting a reply.

"Mmm," Renesmee responded, the closest to acknowledging her mother she could manage while still searching for the next seven.

It was almost forty-five minutes later when Renesmee finished and looked up; her task was complete, and she could breathe easier. On the adjacent page was a yellow Post-It with strange, elongated handwriting she didn't recognize. She remembered it being placed there but had forgotten to read it.

_I'm in the office._

_Come in when you're done._

_Jacob_

She looked again at that heavy door and stood up, placing her book on the chair behind her. She liked that door. She walked toward it and placed a hand on the dark wood. The grain was smooth. Renesmee closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the wood. It radiated out to her, speaking to her, calming her constantly frayed nerves. She laid her head against the wood and sighed. It smelled warm, just the way it felt.

Eventually, she stepped away and crossed the threshold into the office. It was large, larger than she'd expected. The ceiling was vaulted, and the wooden beams above were the same deep hue as the door. The room was a long rectangle, reaching from the front to the back of the house. The back half was filled with different kinds of chairs and stools, a bookcase full of games and art supplies and a swing in the corner. A swing inside. She smiled and snorted loudly; what a ridiculous thing, a swing inside.

The long wall across from her was lined with large windows overlooking the woods and a small creek. The greenery was striking. She watched the water flow over the rocks. It moved smoothly, never stopping. Each rock it hit was only a hiccup in the constant flow, over and around, always moving. She watched for a while before stepping up to the glass, putting her hands against it and feeling the coolness of the air on the other side.

She slowly pulled her hand back and turned around. The front half of the room was decorated sparsely and served as the office space. She saw a large, over-sized desk with an equally large, over-sized man behind it. She wondered briefly if he had ever been tied down by miniature people, his stature reminiscent of Gulliver. With a loud snort, she imagined him out in the woods, tiny people dancing around his head, stabbing him with miniature pitchforks.

At the noise, he turned and smiled at her.

She covered her mouth, expecting the noise to elicit a scolding.

"Renesmee ." He said her name clearly, expecting nothing in response, simply stating a fact.

They stayed that way for a moment, him patiently waiting, his face relaxed. He regarded her without expectation, allowing her to study him as she wondered what he was going to do next. His face was broad and his skin darker than anyone she'd met before, at least in real life. There were people on T.V. darker than him; they were Black. He didn't look Black, but he did look different.

His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail behind on his head. A boy with long hair. She snorted again at the idea. His blazer was corduroy, and the button up shirt he wore beneath it was red with a plaid pattern. She couldn't see the rest of him but remembered he had been wearing jeans and cowboy boots when speaking with her mother.

She felt strangely calm here, surrounded by the light from the forest filtering in from the large windows and the quiet calm of this man.

He smiled and turned back to his desk to continue writing. There was no computer; he wrote by hand in a notebook. She stepped toward him, curious. She breathed out heavily through her nose, making another of the noises the schools called disruptive and her mother called inappropriate. To her, they were natural.

She didn't understand what he was doing. Wasn't she here for another in a long line of therapy appointments? Occupational therapy, play therapy, speech therapy, family therapy, group therapy, physical therapy, psycho therapy. This was unlike any other therapy appointment, though. She had been there for almost an hour, had been allowed to complete her puzzle, and wasn't expected to speak.

Stepping closer, she eyed his notebook; what was he writing about?

Without looking up, he began speaking, his low voice clear and even. "This is my file for the person coming in next. You're welcome to stay while I talk with him." He looked up at her, and she was struck with the honesty in his face. He meant what he said. She never understood what people were trying to say when they didn't say what they meant, but she could always tell they were doing it. People were liars, seemed like all of them were, and she could never figure out what was going on. It made her uncomfortable.

"Is he sick? Like me?"

"No, he's not sick. But then, neither are you."

"No. I'm _special_." She said the word with such venom he sat back in his chair and swiveled it so his entire body was looking at her, not just his eyes.

"You don't like being special." Again, he stated it as a fact, not a question, allowing her to answer or not, as she wanted. Something about it made her relax; the lack of pressure was refreshing.

"Special sucks."

"It can," he agreed. No one ever agreed with her.

She waited, watching him, expecting him to begin to tell her how wonderful it was to be special, how important it was that the world have differences in it. All the crap her mother always said. All the crap every school, every counselor had tried to stuff down her throat. But he never did.

Eventually, he nodded and turned back to his desk.

"Special sucks," she said again loudly, testing him. Had he heard her right?

"Sometimes, yes, it can suck to be different."

She blinked her eyes and took two more steps toward him.

"How is _he_ special?" She jabbed a finger toward the file Jacob had been writing in.

"He's not."

"What?"

"If being special sucks, as you said, then I would never call Jasper special. He's very intuitive, especially about how people are feeling, but he has a hard time with his own emotions."

"Emotions can be confusing."

He was looking at her now, meeting her eyes but not reacting when she looked away. He spoke thoughtfully and clearly. "They can be, but we relate to each other through intellect as well as emotion, so it's important to be fluent in both."

"What?"

"We need to use our minds and our hearts, and when someone has trouble expressing themselves verbally or emotionally, well, it can be hard to get along with people. So I work with Jasper on how to listen and speak with his heart."

"Hearts can be confusing too."

"That's true for everyone." He stated it as a fact. Her confusion was not special.

She turned to go back to the lobby but stopped and turned to him again. "I can really stay?"

"Yes."

"Can I do my puzzle?"

"If you'd like. When Jasper leaves, I have a break before my next client, so it will be just us again."

She grunted loudly with an exhale and stepped toward the door. For some reason, she felt compelled to stop and turn back to him. "I'll be, um, I'm gonna come back."

"As you like, Renesmee . If you want to be in here, you're welcome. If you find you are more comfortable in the waiting room, that's okay too. If you want to meet Jasper, that would be fine as well; he's a great kid. I think you'd like him."

Renesmee could sense no humor or judgment in the man's voice; he genuinely meant everything he had said.

"Who are you?" she spat out, stepping back toward him. Her tone was more aggressive than she had intended, but he didn't flinch and seemed to take no offense.

"I'm sorry; I thought your mother told you."

Renesmee snorted and made a dismissive gesture with her arm; it was stiff and too fast, but the meaning was clear. Her mother never bothered to tell her anything.

"I'm Jacob. Dr. Black, but I'd rather you just call me Jacob."

"You're supposed to get me into a new school."

"No, you're supposed to do that. I'm just here for you to talk to while you figure out how you're going to."

She regarded him curiously. Wasn't he the therapist? Wasn't he supposed to do his evaluation/diagnosis/whatever and tell her parents the six new things she was supposed to try and do so she could fit in at school? Prescribe her the magic pill so that she could be the cheerleader or the band geek or anything other than what she was?

She walked out of the office without responding, focusing on getting her book.

When Jasper arrived, Renesmee was settled comfortably in a leather chair in the corner of the room. From there, she could see everything that was going on but was removed from the action. This was a good place. The leather of the chair was smooth and warm; it gave easily when she sat on it. No resistance, nothing forcing her body into a mold. She enjoyed it.

Jasper wasn't what she had expected. She thought he would be someone her age who would sulk on his way in and sit across from Jacob's desk. She expected to watch someone else experience what she had been through over and over again: an interrogation or a lesson on normalcy or an unfortunate exchange where she had no idea what they were talking about. Instead, what arrived was a seven-year-old boy with curly blond hair. He bounded into the office and went straight for the swing.

"Hi, Jasper!" Jacob called out from his desk, not looking up.

"Jacob wears make-up!" Jasper sang as he pushed off with his feet.

Renesmee giggled as Jacob rolled his eyes.

"Jake, how are you today?" A perky woman entered the room.

"Jacob's a slob!" Jasper continued.

"I'm having a great day so far, Alice, thank you for asking." He smiled and stood to hug the small woman. Renesmee watched as they spoke casually. They were catching up and exchanging pleasantries smoothly; there was nothing rushed about their exchange. Unlike her mother, Alice was not halfway out the door before she'd even arrived. Through it all, Jacob was gathering information about how Jasper had been doing.

"Alice, this is Renesmee. Is it all right with you that she's here during Jasper's appointment?" Jacob gestured to Renesmee easily, inviting her to join but making no demands on her to do so.

"Jacob's gonna be eaten by the Blob!"

"Yes, of course." The woman smiled brightly, ignoring her son. "If she's a friend of yours, then I'm sure Jasper would love to meet her once he's ready."

Who were these people? Renesmee wasn't used to people who were so… understanding. She lived in a colony of people who all thought the same way. These people weren't like her, but they certainly weren't like her parents.

Alice closed the heavy wooden door when she left, sealing Renesmee in with Jacob and Jasper. This time, being closed in a strange place didn't cause the panic to rise - that indescribable, uncontrollable, overwhelming feeling that nothing was right, that nothing would ever be right. This time, the panic stayed in that place where she'd buried it.

"Cluck!" Jasper cried as he jumped off of the swing and pulled a container of clay off of the bookshelf full of boxes and baskets of art supplies.

"Art today, Jasper?" Jacob asked as he walked to the other side of the room.

"Cluck!" Jasper responded as he pulled out a plastic mat.

"Thank you for pulling out the mat; it's important to keep the clay off of the carpet."

"Cluck!"

"Could you try another word? I like that one, but I'm pretty sure you aren't actually a chicken."

Jasper fell apart into a fit of giggles.

"I'm happy to see you too, buddy." Jacob smiled and stood still as Jasper approached him and placed his small foot gently on top of Jacob's boot.

Renesmee watched as the boy calmed down and smiled.

After about five minutes of sitting on the floor molding the clay into snakes and flowers and people, Jacob started speaking softly to Jasper, who would respond sometimes and simply ignore him at others. Jacob never appeared to get upset.

Renesmee settled deeper into her chair and began working on her next sudoku puzzle.

Jasper's hour passed quickly. Renesmee finished two more puzzles and sometimes would watch as Jacob and the little boy moved from one activity to the next. She still couldn't make sense of what they were doing or why, but the boy seemed to really like Jacob, and she liked watching them together. After a while, she started watching them more and working on the puzzle less.

When it was almost time for Jasper to leave, she noticed that Jacob's tone got harsher. He was demanding more of the boy, asking him to push himself, to use words, not noises or rhymes. By the end of the session, he was walking on a path taped out on the floor like a balance beam while having a conversation with Jacob. A simple 'hello, goodbye, my name is' kind of conversation, but as he struggled with talking and focusing on the path, his speech improved and comfort level increased.

When Jacob felt like the boy had achieved whatever he was working on, he smiled and asked if Jasper would like to stand on top of his boots and have a ride to get his mother. Jasper looked skeptical, not sure about the offer, but hesitantly, stepped toward Jacob and put first one foot and then the other on his boots. Jacob offered his hands and, when the boy took them, began to walk.

Jasper laughed nervously at first but soon was giggling as Jacob took bigger and sillier steps. Alice opened the door and peeked inside. Upon seeing her laughing child, tears began to spill from her eyes.

"He's… touching you," she whispered and was rewarded by another round of gleeful giggles.

"All right, little man, off with your mama! I'll see you on Thursday." He smiled at Alice as she mouthed a 'thank you' and walked out with her son.

"I'm going to make a sandwich; do you want something?" Jacob asked Renesmee .

"Meatloaf," she responded.

"It wasn't a literal question. I'm sure you'd love meatloaf, but I don't have any. When I asked if you wanted something, I was really asking if you'd like something that I do have." He corrected her calmly and without rancor.

"I like meatloaf."

"I do too," he stated.

"You don't have it though."

"No, I don't, but if you're hungry, you could come to the kitchen with me, and we could see if there's something you'd like that I _do_ have."

"Okay."

Jacob smiled and led the way out of his office, through the waiting room, and into the main section of his home.

Renesmee spent almost every day with Jacob after that. They spoke minimally, and she always brought a book, a puzzle, or her weaving project with her. He never scolded her for not engaging and always welcomed her when she did. Most of his patients enjoyed having her there, but for one or two, he requested she wait in the waiting room.

Jasper came in twice a week, and Renesmee found that she really enjoyed when he was there. He was silly and still so young; he hadn't learned that being different meant being on the outside yet; he was still so innocent. He never touched her and rarely spoke to her directly, but he would draw her things or ask Jacob something about her when she sat with them. It was hard to watch him chew on his thoughts and know he wasn't able to say what he meant.

He had a hard time pronouncing her name. He said it was weird, making her laugh. It was weird. It wasn't a real name he said. He wasn't wrong.

ReNessa-gray, ReNescafe, RenesHorray, NessCrochet's: he was full of them. But he finally settled on simply calling her Nessie. Renesmee had never had a nickname before. No one had ever bothered to think of one despite her awkward name.

Eventually, Jacob and most of his patients had taken to calling her Nessie.

The time that she looked forward to the most, though, was lunch. They would sit at the large island in his kitchen and plan what they would have to eat the next day. This way, he could always have something on hand that she liked, and it let her know what to expect. Eventually, she began asking her mother to make the lunches, surprising Bella. It was unlike Renesmee to be concerned with doing something nice for someone in return.

Most days, they would sit in silence. Some days, Jacob would tell her about the woods behind his house and the Quileute legends, and a few times, he even mentioned his girlfriend Emily. And rarely, Renesmee would talk about being special.

She slowly told him about her last school and about the panic feeling that would sneak up on her. She couldn't get the words out though; they would stick in her throat and nothing could get past them. If she tried to force them, she'd find she couldn't breathe.

"Nessie, you don't have to have the right words. How about you just tell me what word it feels like?" Jacob suggested one day as they sat eating egg salad sandwiches and pickles. Bread and butter pickles, not the dill ones. Renesmee didn't like the way they smelled.

"I'm a bear."

"A bear?" he asked calmly.

"Yes, and I have to… claw out."

"Claw out from..."

"From the places that choke me. But I can't. You know I'm not really a bear." She spoke flatly, without inflection, making sure he understood.

"Yes, I know."

"And I don't have any claws."

"No."

"But I have to… get out."

"So what does a bear girl, who isn't a bear and doesn't have claws, do?"

"I… if it's my own noise, it's easier; I can…."

…

…

…

He waited while she looked for the right words. He didn't fidget or seem bored. He simply waited.

"I don't know," she sighed, frustrated again. "I don't know." She was getting upset, searching in her mind for words and explanations that didn't have form. They existed only for her; outside her mind, it was impossible to express.

"Well, think about it. When the right words come, we can talk about it more, and if they don't, well, we can talk about it with the wrong ones. Take your time, Nessie; you're trying to articulate something very complicated. It's okay that it's difficult."

"I like Jasper."

"So do I." Jacob was accustomed to her sporadic changes of topic.

"I like Nessie."

"You do? I agree; it fits you."

"Because I'm a monster too." She hung her head.

"Perhaps it's because the real you is hidden, and most people never get to see who you are above the surface. But the few who do know just how amazing you are."

Renesmee looked at her hands and picked at the seam in her jeans. "Maybe," she conceded, unsure how she felt about that.

"Do you hum?" he asked abruptly.

"Sometimes."

"Do you like rhythms?"

"Yes… yes… I want drums. I want to play drums. Dad says no drums. They are too loud, and I am too lazy. I won't play them."

"I have something you might like," he said with a wink. Quickly, he stood and cleared their plates, and then he took her back to the therapy room. On the side of the room where the swing was mounted, there was a door she'd never seen him open. He cracked it open and reached in. She couldn't see what was inside.

He pulled out two small drums, round with shapely stands.

"These are gourd drums. We Quileutes use them during our meetings and during prayer. They help people focus and bring their attention to the present."

She reached out to take the smaller drum from him, snatching it from his arm in excitement. His eyes twinkled in response to her excitement.

They sat on the floor facing each other and began to play.

Jacob closed his eyes and swayed as he beat on the drum, changing rhythms and sounds easily. Renesmee simply hit it in the same spot over and over without changing the pace or tone. He weaved a song around her staccato beat. They played and played, and eventually, Renesmee closed her eyes too, feeling the music flow though her. It reverberated in her body, and the vibrations from the drum traveled up her arms and through her chest. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm, and for a moment, she felt a rare sense of peace.

She was not out of control, seeking release from the rhythm of her screams. She was not blocking out the outside world by taking control of the only thing she had, her body, and forcing it to push everyone out. For once, the rhythm flowed easily and smoothly through her.

Slowly, Jacob stopped playing, and Renesmee was alone in her world of rhythm and feeling. When she stopped playing, she opened her eyes to find she was by herself. Jacob had left her to experience her moment alone.

She stood up and turned to his desk, an unusual calm inside of her.

Her mother had arrived while she was playing and was watching her from the waiting room, unsure of what to make of her daughter's expression. The girl had always been an enigma.

Without a word, Renesmee walked over to Jacob and reached out. She cupped her hand beneath his chin, holding him softly. The contact was strange; she had never touched him until now and was not usually inclined to initiate any kind of contact with people. But for this moment, she needed to express her feelings, and this was the only way she knew how.

Jacob was relaxed, accepting her touch, not moving away and not demanding more. He simply existed with her.

When she released him, he looked up from his desk at her. "I'm glad you liked the drum; you can take it home."

"My father won't…"

"I'll talk to him, Renesmee . You should bring it if Jacob says it's okay." Her mother was standing in the doorway with a smile on her lips.

The girl looked from her mother to the calm man next to her.

"Thank you." She whispered.

"You are more than welcome."

"Mrs. Cullen, I'm glad you're here" He began standing up, glancing at Renesmee first to make sure she was comfortable being so close to him as he stood. Surprisingly, she did not move away.

"Yes?" Bella was tentative. This man had cast a spell on her daughter; was it safe to be letting her spend so much time alone with him? Or was he really the miracle worker he appeared to be?

"On Saturday, I'm having a gathering of some of my clients. Some are current clients who I still see, others I haven't worked with in quite a while, but we've remained close. I'd love for you and your husband to bring Nessie." The invitation hung between them.

"Nessie?"

"Me," Renesmee informed her mother.

"This is a nickname?" Bella asked Renesmee before turning on Jacob. "You nicknamed her after the Lock Ness Monster?" Her voice was calm, but there was fire in her eyes.

"Jasper did," Renesmee informed her. "I enjoy it."

Renesmee could see her mother rolling it over in her mind.

"Mrs. Cullen, I would very much like for your family to come this weekend." Jacob changed the topic fluidly, leaving the issue of her nickname behind.

Renesmee was sure there were plans that would need to be canceled, and for her father to come, well, that would be a miracle. But for the first time, she was eager to attend something she'd been invited to.

She knew Jasper and had met an older woman named Leah who was gruff and hard at first but melted when she spoke of her cats. There was a man named Quil who talked all the time, never stopping, sharing every thought that entered his mind without any kind of censoring. She liked when Jacob's father had stopped by and had even been allowed to hold baby Connor when his mother brought in a five-year-old named Brady who wouldn't speak and had trouble controlling his movements.

Somehow, Renesmee felt comfortable with these people. None of them were like her, but they weren't like everyone else. Maybe that was it, or maybe it was the magic spell that Jacob had cast on them all that allowed them to exist together without expectation or apology.

Her mother was speaking softly, shaking her head and offering polite apologies for not being able to accept his invitation.

"Mom I… I want to attend."

"You do?" Her mother gaped at her, shocked.

"I want to… be involved."

"Mrs. Cullen, Nessie has made friends with a number of my clients. I think they would all enjoy seeing her, and it sounds like she'd like to see them."

Friends? Renesmee rolled the word around in her mind; it was alien and uncomfortable, but somehow, these people slid into the irregular shape of her heart.

"…will call and let you know our final…"

"Mom, I want to attend," she said again, more clearly, her fingers working frantically at the hem of her shirt.

Jacob smiled at her, knowing how difficult it was for her to express something she wanted clearly and calmly.

"We'll try dear; I need to speak with your father."

"If you aren't able to come on Saturday; I understand, but I do hope you'll consider allowing Nessie to come."

"Alone?" Bella asked incredulously.

"I… I could do that," Renesmee agreed, nodding her head emphatically.

"I don't think that's…"

"I can mom; I… I can do it.

"I don't know, honey…"

"I don't want to be apart; I want to be inside."

Her mother's sad look said that she didn't believe it was possible. So Nessie threw out the only bargaining chip she had left.

"And then, maybe I could try school again."

Her mother's shock was written all over her face, but before she could protest, Jacob chimed in.

"Nessie, I think that's a great idea." Jacob spoke smoothly, like the water outside, never disturbed even as he flowed over the roughest rocks.

"You… what?" Bella was not expecting this. Her daughter had been doing school work in the evenings, but grades were never the problem. She had assumed the hours she was spending here in therapy only indicated that Renesmee's issues were incurable.

"I think Nessie is ready to begin school again, maybe starting with half days, or perhaps a homeschooling co-op with a small number of teens. Traditional school may not be the right fit for her, but I'm certain we could find something that would work."

"If… I'll have to speak with Edward…"

"Of course. Perhaps you could both come in one day, and we could all sit down and discuss Nessie's plans."

"I want to be there," Nessie interjected abruptly.

"Of course." Jacob's reassurance left no room for argument from her mother.

Renesmee Carlie Cullen attended a small Quaker high school and graduated with straight A's. On Saturdays, she continued to go to Jacob's house. She was there as his assistant, filing and straightening the materials; sometimes she would participate in therapy sessions. They continued to have lunch together.

She took classes online from a commuter college and a vocational school in Port Angeles, where she received her license to become a physical therapist. Eventually, she partnered with Jacob and began her own small practice.

At one of Jacob's infamous gatherings, she met an older man named Seth. He was the younger brother of Leah and was kind and funny. She liked him immediately. When they began dating, her parents protested. But they fell in love and soon married.

At twenty-two, Nessie C. Clearwater moved out of her parent's home and began to create her own.


End file.
